


Not-so-lucky

by alltheshipping



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Angst, Family Drama, Family Feels, Gen, Gladstone needs a hug, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-02-18 12:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13100121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltheshipping/pseuds/alltheshipping
Summary: "If I tried to kill myself, would my luck save me or not? I mean, technically I would want to die, so... Hey, don't look at me like that"





	1. Chapter 1

He takes a few moments to consider what he's doing. Would it even work? Would his luck get in the way or allow it? It's difficult to say. 

Then again, it always does what's best for him. And this seems to be the best option right now. 

Slowly, he takes the aspirin. His hand is shaking when he grabs the knife. In just a few seconds, everything will be over. Nothing will manipulate or insult him anymore. He's family is going to be fine. They can take care of themselves.

The blood starts to leave his body at an steady pace, staining the carpet. It hurts, a lot more than expected. But soon the pain leaves, and he passes out.

__________________

He wakes up in an hospital bed, with various people beside him. His left arm hurts horribly, and his vision is rather blurry, but that isn't important at the moment. The only thing that matters is that he failed, and now everyone knew what he tried to do.

-Gladdy?- He recognizes the voice instantly. Fethry moves closer until he's sitting beside him and, while he is having trouble seeing clearly, it was pretty obvious his cousin was crying. And he didn't need to be a genius to know why. Soon, the duck's arms wrap around his neck, in a soft hug. The goose attempts to return it, placing his right hand softly on the other's back. His left one, however, stays in place.

Then the rest of his family gets close to his bed, and he feels rather exposed. Too many stares, each of them asking the same question and expressing the same emotion. At least the triplets aren't there. He briefly wonders what Donald told them before going to see him.

-It's nice to see he's awake- A pelican (That he guesses is the doctor) says once he notices him. He's carrying some papers- Mister Gander, the cuts on your wrists were very deep. You punctured your ulnar artery, and you also cut the tendons in your arm. We managed to save them, but you'll have to go through a recovery period of a few weeks. 

Gladstone simply nods in response, not wanting to engage in a conversation with anyone at the moment. He wants to escape and get away from such an uncomfortable place, but he can't. God, why did his luck abandon him like that? 

-When will he be able to leave?- Grandma Duck questions, and a wave of guilt hit him. An old woman like her should be at her house, relaxing, instead of being worried about her dumb grandson. 

-I'm not able to give you an specific answer, lady. With some luck, soon.

__________________

It's been almost two weeks since the incident, and things go back to normal. For the most part.

Fethry lives with him now, under the excuse that he's been kicked out of his house (Gladstone knows it's a lie, but he enjoys the company enough to let it slide). The rest of the family visits quite often, too. Even Scrooge, the uncle that always saw him as nothing but a disappointment, showed up twice at his home.

Now, sitting in his living room, staring at the flowers Daisy brought for him and listening to the voices of his cousins, he can't remember a moment of his life were he felt more loved since the death of his parents. Seems like the only time people actually care about him is when he's feeling miserable and no amount of good luck can help him. 

-Cousin Gladstone, does your arm hurt?- It's Dewey who asks the question. He moves his hand slowly, trying to hide it from the curious eyes of the kid, before shaking his head with a fake smile- Will it heal soon?

-Yeah, it just needs a few more days and it will be fine- That's what the doctor said, at least. The boy opens his beak, as though he wants to ask something else, before closing it again and going back to play with his brothers.  
The rest of the day is rather uneventful. The triplets keep staring at him, but he refuses to acknowledge it. He knows that, at the very least, they already know that he tried to kill himself. They're smart, they would found out eventually even if his cousin didn't utter a word about the subject in their presence. It's worrisome, thinking what kind of effects his actions may have caused to those children. But it's too late to be lamenting.

For a second, he turns around to see Donald and Fethry arguing about the best way to bake a cake. They seem fine, but he knows they're not. How long would it take for them to move on from this? It's impossible to know.

Part of him wishes things went back to normal.

Part of him never wants things to be normal again. 

__________________

After nearly three months, his birthday comes. He tries not to think about the fact that he was close to not living it this year too much.

It's very similar to other years: Nobody's present is good enough to suprise him, since he already has a better version of everything (Except the triplets' present. He wants to think he isn't emotional, but he loves family photos). But, like every minute since he attempted to stop living, something felt different.  
Maybe it's just him, really. This is the first time in years he didn't insult anyone's gift, no matter how useless and unnecessary they're. Or perhaps it's the way people see him with some sort of pride he'd never seen directed at him, like he was a survivor. In a way, he was. In another, he's a coward. 

Still, he makes an effort to enjoy the party. His arm no longer hurts and, while it's weaker than before, it doesn't make that much of a difference. No one seems to notice, though some of his relatives acted rather strange when he offered a handshake. He's glad that at least the scar is unnoticeable under his feathers. 

Most things are back to what they used to be. Fethry had already "gotten his house back", Donald continuing to antagonize him as usual, Scrooge ignoring his existence unless it's to complain about his laziness... Whether he liked it or not, most people in his life are already forgetting about the little "incident". 

-Gladstone!- The sudden scream suprises him, and the piece of cake that hits his face only a second later distracts him from his thoughts. He doesn't know who did it, but he doesn't need to.  
Quickly, he grabs the closest plate from him and throws it's contents against Donald's back. Soon, a furious duck is running after him, searching for his revenge. By the time the chase it's over, everybody in the room seems more relaxed. 

__________________

Obviously, sooner or later, people start to think things can go back to normal. He tries not to blame them for it, but no matter how much he tells himself that he's being selfish, the idea doesn't leave.  
It's not something he can't just talk about, either. His family went through a lot because of him, especially the first weeks since he attempted suicide. They all showed him, in their own ways, how much they cared. Maybe that's why he feels that way.  
He takes some time and, finally, decides that if he continues like this he's going to either end up dead or back at the hospital bed. So, he needs to speak with someone who won't take it too badly.

-It was worth it- The second that he steps inside of the office, it just comes out. Perhaps it's because this is the person from which he needs helps the most- I never felt more like I was part of the family. I would do it again, if I could get the same results. 

Scrooge doesn't react much at first, but Gladstone thankfully is in the mood to wait. He'll take about anything at that point, really. Even a punch to the face, if it means that his uncle cares about him. 

Was he always so starved for affection?

Finally, the duck moves towards him and slowly pulls him closer. It's rather akward, mostly because the older of the two is still in shock, but he accepts it anyway. For a brief moment, when the tears start to fall, he wonders if his uncle ever hugged him before. 

He's glad that, even if he's the least favourite, he's still considered family enough to be worth all the trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

It's a strange feeling, both knowing and not knowing what you're about to do. The water below him is a beautiful, almost hypnotic, shade of dark blue. The cold wind softly caresses his body, as though it's trying to keep the storm that's inside of him from forming. 

Nobody else is around. Whether that's because of his good luck or not is something he no longer wants to answer, mostly because answering those kind of questions usually only ever brought him headaches and that's the last thing he needs at that moment. 

To avoid looking at the sea, he forces his eyes to search for the moon. It's full that night, shining brightly like one of his uncle's coins. For some reason, just seeing it's there makes him feel less lonely. 

"They will rescue you, just like last time" His gaze goes down yet again, noting the slow movement of the waves. Considering what time it is, the water's probably really cold, but that thought doesn't make the idea that's forming in the back of his head disappear "There's nothing to lose with this"

He should be leaving (Or jumping. That's an option too, now) but his feet are firmly glued to the ground. So, instead of going anywhere, he puts his hands on his pockets and grasps his cellphone like his life depended on it.  
"In a way, it does"

He breaths in and out, making an effort to stay grounded. It's fine, he's fine, everything it's fine, he can do it. He won't hurt his family again.  
The light coming from the dispositive hurts his eyes slightly, but he ignores it. The list of contacts is too long, with too many names of people he doesn't trust enough to help.

 

He quickly comes to the realization that he doesn't know who to call.

That's okay, though. It's fine. His fingers dance over the screen as his stare searches for someone who won't send him to Hell for calling at three in the morning to announce that he's right next to a bridge after deciding that he didn't actually want to kill himself. 

Either by sheer dumb luck or by destiny, he accidentally clicks on one of the names when he's getting close to tears and his hands are starting to shake too much.

The phone rings and rings. The reflection of the moon in the deep, deep water is probably the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. It keeps ringing, nobody's going to answer. For some reason, the stars seem brighter than ever. Another ring. 

 

Suddenly, a yawn is heard. Either it started raining or he's crying. Now his cheeks are wet.

-What's the matter, Gladstone?- The tone of voice is obviously tired, and the guilt of awakening his cousin fills him instantly. He probably let out a sob or something because, after a small pause, the other sounds worried- What's wrong, Gladdy?

-I'm standing beside Duckburg's bridge- It's hard to identify what emotion he's transmitting right now, but it's most likely a bad one, because there's instantly a loud noise on the other side of the call.

He waits a few seconds, hearing something akin to keys being moved and then a car engine being started. His heart beats a little faster.

-Don't do anything stupid, for the love of God- Fethry's coming for him, of course. It's reassuring, knowing someone would actually do that for him- Please, just stay there.

-I will- He answers, softly, checking out his reflexion. The Sea moves just enough for his image to look distorted.

His feet move, but only so he can sit down in the exact same place he's been standing in for who knows how long. When he looks up at the sky again, the moon now feels a little bigger and shinier.

 

He's just glad he didn't call Donald. Making his cousin choose between coming to same him from himself or staying at home to sleep so he can take the boys to school tomorrow and work seemed like a pretty sadistic choice. 

The breeze is either getting stronger or he's less numb than before, because he's starting to get cold. His free hand grips the fabric of his jacket, wondering why he didn't bring more clothes.

"Dead people don't feel the cold"

There's a noise.

 

Fethry's crying.

-Please don't cry- He says, more desperation dripping from his words that he ever heard anyone mutter. One of his feathers falls, and he quickly grabs it. His fingers start playing with it to keep himself busy.  
It's fine, everything's fine.

-Don't jump- His cousin mutters between tears, and he nods even though he knows the other can't see him.

It feels like forever, but at some point Fethry reaches him. He's never been hugged tighter, but right now he rather break his ribs than push his family away. He needs this.

-Everything's fine- He whispers softly when the tears finally stop falling. Nothing's fine.

The ride back home (Back to his cousin's house, because neither of them is passing the rest of the night alone) is mostly silent. There's a lot that needs to be said, and neither of them have the energy, so the words stay in the air, waiting to be spoken.  
The place is much smaller than his own, but at the moment that's unimportant. Feeling too tired to even reach the bedroom, he throws himself at the couch. It's uncomfortable, small and he will most likely have back pains in the morning, but it doesn't matter. Nothing does.  
Fethry softly sits next to him, staring at the wall, searching for something that isn't there. There's fear and confusion and pity and too many emotions to count in his eyes. He's pretty sure he's responsable for most of them, and decides to make up for it in the morning. It's the least he can do.

He closes his eyes and the memories come back at him. They used to sleep together the time, making pillow forts on his bedroom floor so they could all wake up together. The biggest one he ever made was the day his uncle died, to make Donald and Della feel happier. Just like those two did for him when his own parents died.

 

But things are going to get better now. It's going to get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I wasn't going to continue this but apparently I still had some stuff to cough up... If this ends up having a third part then I hope it's longer and happier.  
> Also after writing this I'm definitely banned from using both "he" and "his"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how short this one is... The original version was much longer but it got deleted bc my phone is trash and I lost motivation...

One thing that's been true since he's young is that he loves the night. Not doing anything during the day meant he could stay up for hours without feeling tired, only staring at the stars and enjoying the slight light the moon offered.  
So, if there was any time in the day he could choose to talk about the past and all the things that bothered him, it would be that time. He stays seated near one of his windows, the bigger in his house, while Donald makes himself comfortable in the couch. The weather is rather nice, not too cold or too hot, and there are only a few clouds in the sky.

-What do you want to talk about?- He asks, without even looking away from the stars. The answer is obvious, but he prefers the other to mention it first.

-Fethry told me what happened- His voice is so serious Gladstone feels the need to face him. His cousin looked almost as tired and stressed as the day they found out Della had left.

-I guessed he would tell you- He lifted his left hand (The one that still had the scars from his first suicide attempt, the one that sometimes still hurt) to rub his temples. He's having a headache- Does Uncle Scourge know?

-No, he doesn't- Donald answers, though he seems rather confused about why the question is being asked- Do you want me to tell him?

-No.

After that, they wait in silence for a while. The moon isn't full that night, but he finds it beautiful nonetheless. He remembers his mother loving it too, and sometimes staying late with him to talk about different superstitions having to do with the night. On rare occasions, his father would join them. He doesn't remember him ever talking in those moments, though.   
A small noise distracts him from his thoughts, so he turns around to see what happened. Donald is no longer sitting in the couch. Instead, he's walking towards one of the many pictures in his home. One from when the were only teenagers, and they had a much closer bond. 

-For the longest time, I thought your life was perfect- His cousin sounds lost, like he's not actually talking to anyone. He grabs the picture and inspects it, softly caressing the glass.

-Everybody thinks that- He answers, making no effort to hide his bitterness. Still, he gets closer to see the photo too, trying to remember exactly what day it was taken.

It was a summer, about twelve years ago. Della's in it, holding a strange object that she probably found while on an adventure. With her other arm, she has him trapped in an hug. Donald's next to them, making a peace sign.   
It's perfect and he loves it, but lately he's been thinking about hiding it in his closet, with all the pictures of his parents. Maybe it'll haunt him less in there.

-I'm sorry- The apology is unexpected. Hearing it only makes him feel worse.

-I should be the one to apologize- He answers softly, turning around to stare at the window again- You went through so much more than me, without even having luck by your side, and yet I'm the one that's complaining about everything.

Now that he got that of his chest, the silence continues. It's something he felt needed to be said, but now he isn't too sure about how Donald took it. He could try facing him again, but looking at the moon is more relaxing and right now he needs to stay calm.  
Another moment passes, and finally the duck reacts. He can hear the photo being put back into its place, and then he feels someone grab his right hand (The one that still hasn't been hurt, who doesn't have any scars hiding behind the feathers) Out of pure instinct, he turns around.

-Don't say that. If you need my help, I'll be happy to provide- Donald's eyes are leaking with silent tears, and he's starting to feel as though his are close to that point too- That's what family is for, after all.

-I'm sorry- He whispers, getting closer to him. They're hugging now and he doesn't feel as shitty as before- For not helping you in the past. 

Donald doesn't answer that. 

When his cousin leaves, he feels empty again. Before he goes to sleep, he opens the box inside his closet not to put something inside, but to take something out. It's an old family photo, old enough that his parents are in it. It's painful to look at, even after all these years. Still, he can't help but smile upon seeing it.

He decides to hang it on the wall the next day.


End file.
